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#Danny Fenton angst
charlietheepicwriter7 · 2 months
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G̴̩͍͆͆̈́e̵̹̣͆t̷̬̋ ̸̻̮̎̒ĭ̸̏̃n̵͙̋͐ ̸̛̳̃t̶̪̣̅ḣ̸̳̇͜è̵̠̲͖̔̑ ̶̢̹̖͗͐̀Wa̵̬̞͝ṫ̴̩̣̣e̶͉̲̯͂̏̎r̴̉
It was a simple mission. Damian was working with Father to confirm the existence of a Lazarus Pit below Gotham, as Ra's Al Ghul speculated. And they had found it, deep in the caves below Gotham. A Pit the size of an Olympic sized swimming pool, bubbling and steaming. He'd only looked away for a moment.
"Kin-slayer."
Standing waist deep in the water stood Damian's reflection. The hair might be white, and the eyes glowing with the waters, but it was his face. But not his face alone.
Danyal's ghost glared at him. "Get in the water."
Father threw a batarang at him, but the metal flew straight through his head like it was air. Danyal didn't even glance at him, his eyes fixed on Damian. "Get in the water," he ordered again. He stepped closer to the shore and the green water sloshed up the bank higher than it was before. "Or I'll raise the tide so high, all of Gotham will die. So get in the water."
Damian's heart jumped into throat. "Wait-"
"Get in the water."
Father shoved Damian behind him, as if it would protect him, as if he could stop Danyal. "Stop this, please-" If he could just explain-
Another step and the waters surged forward, nearly touching Father's boots. "I'll make whirlpools so profound, your entire family will drown," he promised.
"NO!" Not his brother, his kind brother-
"THEN GET IN THE WATER!" Danyal snarled, revealing monstrously sharp teeth and a black tongue from Damian's poison. "G̴̩͍͆͆̈́e̵̹̣͆t̷̬̋ ̸̻̮̎̒ĭ̸̟̰͙̏̃n̵͙̝̟̋͐ ̸̛̳̃t̶̪̣̅ḣ̸̳̇͜è̵̠̲͖̔̑ ̶̢̹̖͗͐̀w̵̜͍̤̌a̵̬̞͝ṫ̴̩̣̣e̶͉̲̯͂̏̎r̴̉͜!̷̡͔́̀̽" He lunged and Father pushed them back down the passage they'd come. "Don't mistake this for a bluff, brother. You've lived more than enough. Just get in the water." Damian swallowed, throat dry. Was this Danyal's revenge? Did he finally have to face what he had done?
"Robin, who is this?" Father snapped, trying to keep retreating down the cave. But Damian wouldn't let him; the waters, and Danyal with them, would only follow.
Danyal looked between them, scowling. "G̴̩͍͆͆̈́e̵̹̣͆t̷̬̋ ̸̻̮̎̒ĭ̸̟̰͙̏̃n̵͙̝̟̋͐ ̸̛̳̃t̶̪̣̅ḣ̸̳̇͜è̵̠̲͖̔̑ ̶̢̹̖͗͐̀w̵̜͍̤̌a̵̬̞͝ṫ̴̩̣̣e̶͉̲̯͂̏̎r̴̉͜!̷̡͔́̀̽" he snapped again. "I'll take your father and gouge out his eyes, unless you want to stop being a coward and choose to die. Now... get in the water."
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ohlooh · 3 months
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Danny Fenton was tired. He was also annoyed, just a little bit angry and disappointed, but mainly he was tired.
Tired of the excuses, of the missed dates, of the nights he waited for Dick to come home only for him to show up in the morning with a sheepish smile and an excuse.
He tried to be understanding, he tried to ignore the instincts that screamed that Dick was leaving him, that he was finally getting tired of him and had found someone else.
The problem was that ghosts were beings of emotion. They loved with all their core, they also hated with the same passion, but Danny ignored that. If their partner was not as dedicated, the ghost suffered, their core tried to reach out, form and maintain the bond all alone. Some ghosts even ended up with cracked or shattered cores because they fell for the wrong person.
Danny foolishly thought he would be spared this, he was still half human after all. He was forced to let go of that illusion today. This evening was his and Dick's anniversary dinner. They had planned this months in advance and Dick never even showed up.
Danny felt his core crack on the way home. Not a big break, just a little barely noticeable nick, but given time it could grow deeper and shatter him. So Danny made the decision and packed his things, left a note letting Dick know and left.
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floq · 1 month
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lies that just keep piling up ~
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atomicsheepscientist · 2 months
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Dp x Dc fic idea that wouldn't let me sleep:
"No, you don't understand! I need my powers. I'll die without them!" Danny pleaded with the officer in front of him.
"Sure, kid, and I need a burger. You'll be just fine without your flight or superstrength or whatever. Look, I see kids like you all the time nowadays. You think just because you have a few powers, you can become some kind of hero. You run away from home, cause trouble in the name of 'justice' or whatever. Then reality hits. You start stealing. What's a few stolen bucks or candy bars in the name of the greater good, right? It's a downward spiral from there. Seems you were pretty far down the spiral. Beating up government agents? Kid, there is no way in hell I'm letting you out of here without the meta power suppressant collar. You're lucky Mr. Wayne was so generous and decided to foster you until we find your parents. I would've sent your troublesome ass back to juvie."
I was thinking this was a bad timeline where the Fenton parents died and Danny ran away. The power suppressing collar does work on him somehow, and cuts him off from his ghost half, which stops the ectoplasm that was keeping him alive since the accident.
I pictured Bruce as the foster parent that decided to help the troubled teen, but it could be anyone. Imagine if Lex Luthor decided he wanted to "help" (read: manipulate the young meta into doing his bidding) Danny instead. Extra angst.
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yennao · 28 days
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This took me ten hours, the last 6.5 hours of being yesterday. Please enjoy, My treat
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starry-bi-sky · 2 months
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There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.
He has an older brother
He was dead
(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)
Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.
The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.
His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.
However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.
Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.
(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)
(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)
(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")
("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")
(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")
(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)
(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)
"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"
Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."
Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.
(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)
But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.
And he scowls even deeper.
And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"
Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.
He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."
The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.
Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.
Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.
His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"
There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.
Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.
Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.
There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.
Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.
Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.
Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)
His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.
Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."
"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."
The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.
Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.
Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.
Danyal kills each one.
The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.
"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.
A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."
"Danya!"
Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.
(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)
The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."
Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.
"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.
Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"
"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."
"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.
Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.
Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.
Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."
Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."
"...So be it."
Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.
More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.
It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.
Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.
His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.
But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.
It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.
Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.
In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.
"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"
"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."
That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.
He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.
"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."
Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"
"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."
Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"
Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."
"What if one of us faked our death?"
Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.
Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"
"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.
"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."
Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.
Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.
The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."
Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."
Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."
Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.
Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."
The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.
Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.
...Was mother ever going to tell him?
The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.
His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.
His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.
Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.
The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.
So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.
He has an older brother
His older brother is alive.
(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc prompt#dpxdc prompt#i promise this is a prompt#it just got very long#danyal al ghul au#my take on a danyal al ghul au#older brother danny#dpdc#dpxdc crossover#i know the usual gist is that danyal al ghul is a better knife thrower than he is a swordsman but hey#consider: phantom has a sword when he fights ghosts. how sick is that?#his ghost form having allusions to the LoA. its not obvious but its there#did i make danny brown skinned? yeah. because him being white or not is irrelevant to me and i wanted to make him darker skinned#thinking about the angst of bruce seeing his firstborn son going “i could stay with father!” and then said child being visibly crushed#when told no. and that he may never see his father ever. actually. if he fakes his death. and still doing it anyways for damian's sake#danny loves his little brother he just shows it in an unorthodox way. some of it is not his fault#also danny being an absolute grump in amity park is very funny to me. he's an arrogant little assassin child in AP who is only here for#his little brother's sake and safety. he loves his brother but that doesnt stop him from being an arrogant little brat#gremlin assassin child danny is so funny#i know this is very ironic for me to post after posting my thoughts on danyal al ghul aus and their missed potential#but actually this prompt is what spurred that post into creation in the first place actually.#because i was thinking about this au and then went “oh hey you know whats funny--” and then i#thought about it too much to the point where i had to make a post talking about it#tried to find a balance between danny being mature for his age and also still being a kid#like yeah he’s a trained assassin and has killed but also he’s a 10yo boy about to be separated - Assumingly permanently- from his family
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Man, this was supposed to be a warmup drawing.
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hecate-hollow · 2 months
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Post time stream rescue Tim’s not doing too swell. He’s moved out of the manor, drifted away from his family, is over worked, and in his spiral has convinced himself that no one would care if he disappeared.
Logically he knows this isn’t true. He loved his family and he knows how his family shows him love, but it’s Tim. That little voice is always there in the back of his head. “If i disappeared would they care because suddenly I’m not here to do all the work or because I’m their brother and I’m missing.”
He had zero intention of figuring this out. In fact when that voice got too loud he’d pack up his bag and go spend the weekend at the manor, or longer if need be until that little voice quieted down.
Unfortunately for Tim, during one of his worst low self esteem spirals, he got taken for surprise, knocked over the head, and thrown off a building.
Lady Gotham, refusing to see one of her knights fall, used all her stored up strength to summon a “natural” portal to the infinite realms.
When Tim wakes up, he’s in a bed, in a castle, and the sky outside the window is green. Also he doesn’t have any memories. He knows his name and his age. He’s still stupidly clever, but when a guy in a black and white jump suit literally floats through the door and asks him about himself he can’t say much else.
Which is a problem.
Danny had been minding his business, going about his ghost king duties when some of his knights rushed in carrying a very much alive teenager. Which no problem, this happens all the time. Living people slip into the realms all the time. Usually they can get some basic information about the person and the world they live in and get them back to the right dimension but context clues are needed.
The ghost writer needs context clues to be able to begin a process of elimination for which dimension you originate from.
How long ago was you last ice age? What’s the current year? Who won world War II? Did you *have* a WWII? Do heroes exist in your universe? Do people with special powers exist? Are your polar ice caps still frozen? How far has space travel advanced?
With each answer they can begin crossing out possible dimensions until they reach the right one “usually.”
The issue is that Tim doesn’t have memories, which became very obvious when Danny started asking him questions. He just wanted to know what happened to land Tim into the infinite realms but he couldn’t remember and unfortunately there’s no readily available dimensional ID people carry around because dimensional travel is…not very common.
So Danny is stuck. He also can’t leave Tim exposed in the zone for too long else he starts transitioning to a more liminal existence, but he can’t return Tim to his dimension because they don’t know what dimension he’s from. Obviously Tim is a hero based on the garb he’s wearing, which is something to start with, but narrowing down dimensions with heroes still leaves them with…too many options. And there’s always the chance that this kid is just a really dedicated cosplayer for their favorite comic book so really how sure can they be?
Danny sorta hopes some memories will start to come back and Takes Tim home with him to his dimension.
Some ground facts. Danny’s parents know he’s phantom and accept this. As soon as Danny told them they did a 180 and basically de ghost proofed the house so Danny would be safe. Also, as the ghost king, Danny was able to tell the ghosts to finally leave him the fuck alone. They have a rotating schedule for social fights now so Danny can actually finish school with decent grades.
So when Danny steps through the portal into his parents Lab with Tim in tow, they start rolling with it. Tim is set up in their guest room, Jazz is coming back home this next weekend with a few idea’s on how to help Tim get his memories back, and Sam and Tucker have been filled in on what’s going on.
For the most part they go about life as if nothings changed. They tell the school that Tim’s a cousin visiting from out of state for health related reasons. They don’t enroll him in school, but Tim is allowed to hang out in the school’s library while Danny has classes (it’s a small town, the rules are lax).
Tucker is the one who picks up that Tim’s a tech genius. He was working on an app or new program and Tim was looking over his shoulder while he worked. “Their’s an easier way to program this.” Tim said absently. Tucker shrugged, slid his laptop over to Tim and watched this kids fingers fly over the keyboard. “Dude how do you know how to do this?” Tucker asked him, debating whether or not to beg this man to teach him his tricks or bow down and worship his almighty skills because what he’d just done was masterful. “I was the teams’s hacker. Meta’s are all good and fine when doing infiltration, but if we needed stealth I was usually called in.”
Tucker immediately went to write that down. New information. Tim’s dimension has Meta’s. Tucker assumed it was just another word for people with super powered abilities. They passed it on to ghost writer who informed them there were still way too many dimensions.
The next breakthrough happened when Danny was training with his mom. Maddie had taught both her kids how to protect themselves as she was well versed in many types of martial combat. They were having practice spars in the back yard with Tim sitting on the back steps watching. Maddie was the one who caught it. There was something about the way Tim was watching them spar that made her believe he was well versed. So he invited him onto the mat and they went ham.
Tim was laughing and somewhere along the lines he mentioned how he hadn’t had this much fun sparing since his young Justice days. Gently, Maddie pried while they continued their dance and they learned that Tim had been a hero named Robin and had been on a team with 3 other sidekicks named Superboy, Impulse, and Wonder Girl.
This narrowed down the list considerably to the point where Danny could take a weekend to send out members of the royal army to peak into each dimension and see if they could find someone with Tim’s name and Face who was missing.
They did learn Tim’s last name was Drake and in all the dimensions they visited he was either present and accounted for or already dead. Still Danny knew they were moving in the right direction. By this point Tim had been living at Fenton works for 2 months. He somehow seemed healthier than when he first arrived, and Danny loved having him around. Tim was awesome, and because of that he knew somewhere someone was desperately trying to find him so he’d get Tim home one way or another.
It was during this search that Danny felt a familiar tug on his core. Someone was summoning him. He could usually peak his head through invisibly and catch a glimpse of who was summoning him. He typically ignored cults, and if he had the energy he would show up at the random sleepover or two. Sometimes hero’s would summon him and typically he’d send someone in his place cause they were usually looking for help and most of the royal knights were trained by fright knight and could handle any issues the hero’s needed.
Because Danny was already looking into hero dimensions, and the people summoning him were clearly hero’s he accepted the summons and popped into the circle in all he kingly regalia.
“Hello!” He greets to the 13 or so people in the room and oh look at that! Are they in space? Danny’s pretty sure he’s physically vibrating right now keeping himself in this circle. He loves maping the stars in different dimension. Loves seeing how they differ from his own. “You’ve reached the King of the Infinte realms. How can I help you.”
Danny focused on an older guy in a trench coat who was radiating the same magic as the circle. He would be leading this conversation if he’d informed the group correctly. If anyone else spoke directly to him the circle would break. Not that this or any circle could actually bind Danny.
“We’re looking for someone who may be in your realm.” Trench coat began and Danny frowned.
“You know conversations usually start with introductions. I’ll start. I’m King Daniel Phantom, ancient of space, Guardian of doors, lover of the stars yada yada yada. May I inquire as to who has summoned me?”
“You can call me Constantine, these colorful folks behind me are the Justice league.”
“Right, well call me Danny. You said you’re looking for someone. If he’s a dead soul, I can’t help ya. Hades deals with spirits of the dead in his little corner of the infinite realms. I could definitely enroach upon his territory if I wanted to because it’s part of the realms and I rule the realms but that guy is a grade A asshole and I tend to leave him be. Now if he’s a ghost I might be able to help, but the realms are infinite and even I don’t know how many denizens are there. by the time we run a census on any of the city states, most have doubled in population..”
Oh yes, the inner workings of the realm were…stupid and complicated. No wonder there were so many observants. Not the point.
“There’s a difference between a soul and a ghost?” Someone asked and there went the power of the circle. Damn these heroes were dumb. Constantine looked panicked but Danny simply floated there with a hand on his chin wondering how much he could info dump before they got annoyed.
“Souls are what pass on into hades. Hades zone takes the form of whatever afterlife the passing believed in. Sometime, however, a person who passes has been exposed to enough ectoplasm that their soul reforms into something new. Those are ghosts. Their existence relies heavily on emotions, hence you run into a lot ghosts who died in gruesome or painful ways, or ghosts who feel way too much in their passing.” It’s why there were entire cities in the realm just full of ghosts who couldn’t pass on. “Usually if a ghost wishes to pass on to the actual after life they submit a request and it goes through me or my council. Those requests usually come from the more passively formed ghosts though. The ones who had too many regrets when they passed or were scared or left people behind. It’s a complicated system and not what you called me here to explain I’m sure. Anyway, do you think this person is a ghost or a soul. If they’re a soul I might be able to convince Hades to let them come say goodbye but can’t gaudente that. Again, grade A asshole, that one.”
“As far as we know he was alive when he fell through the portal.”
“The portal?” To answer to his question, someone held up a tablet and played some video footage. Sure enough that was Tim falling through a conveniently placed “natural portal.” Danny fucking loved sentient cities. No way that portal would have formed their other wise. “When did this happen?”
“A 2 weeks ago.” Only 2 weeks? Damn it had been two months back in Danny’s dimension. Time fluctuations were weird.
“So a hero falls through a weird green portal and it takes a 2 weeks for you to summon me? Why the ghost king specifically.” It was constantine who answered him.”
“I summoned a couple of demons first. They pointed me in your direction. Took me a while to find a circle that worked.”
“Oh ho ho?” Danny’s grin grew sharp. All teeth and too many of them. A few heroes flinched back, but Danny ignored them. “Demons you say? Happen to remember their names?” Someone was getting their ass handed to them later. Danny had sent notice out that he had a missing person they were trying to find the home dimension of. Fucking Hades and his shitty ass demons. He was not letting this slight slide. Hades may technically be an ancient, but Danny was still King and figured it was about time for another reminder.
Constantine rattled them off and Danny nodded, committing them to memory. “Good news is I know where Tim is. He’s got Amnesia so I dropped him off with a friend from the dimension I originate from and they’ve been taking care of him while I searched for his home dimension. Do you know how many dimensions I have to comb through. Ugh, whatever. The issue is that there’s a time difference between here and the dimension he’s staying in. 2 months have passed as opposed to your 2 week. I can guarantee if I leave to go get him now at least two days will pass before you see me again. I will go get him, obviously, just wanted to let you know what to expect. My teams hope is that when he gets back to his home dimension his memories will start coming back faster, but it’s an unknown. He was lightly concussed when was brought to me, but that’s healed. Our guess is that either someone hit him just right or the sudden shift in dimensions messed with his memory. He’s been remembering things slowly, but it’s only bits and pieces. Other than that he’s healed and completely healthy.”
“That’s…the best news we’ve heard all week.” Danny gave Nightwing a soft understanding smile , probably picking up on the waves of relief pouring off of him.
“Right, I’ll be back with him soon then.”
Nightwing barely managed to keep it together until Danny was gone. As soon as the ghost king left through his own portal the vigilanti had collapsed to the ground, the relief of a possible answer to his missing brother overwhelming him. Cass was by his side immediately, reassuring him that the ghost had seemed honest in his body language at least and had come across as relieved despite all his rambling.
It had been a horribly hectic 2 weeks. Tim hadn’t checked in at the end of his patrol and Tim always checked in. That was the first red flag. So oracle traced his steps, found the last sighting of Tim on top a building near the narrows. It was clear that he wasn’t 100%. Tim was exhausted, and he’d stopped to take a breather after finishing a fight only for someone to sneak up behind him and hit him off the roof. The sheer panic of Tim possibly being dead in an alleyway nearly sent Dick into a panic attack, but halfway down the building the shadows condensed into…something, and a portal opened up right before Tim his the ground. The portal itself…was weird. It was a familiar green and that was terrifying.
Everyone knew about the weird mini war going on between Ra’s and Tim and that green was familiar. There weren’t a lot of League basses left, but Dick found them and together with his family they tore them apart. Still no Tim. So they called in the magic users and Constantine had said it seemed familiar but he’d ask around. Apparently that meant demons, and they all snickered when asked.
“Lost and found ain’t our department. If you want answers talk to the king.” At least that was a clue in the right direction. It ended in all the bats and half the Justice league scouring the world for information on a summoning circle for a new king because the old one was dead…or something.
Even the circle they’d used today was a long shot, but their the king was Daniel Phantom. Couldn’t be any older than Tim, and was also the king?
Constantine was laughing in that hysterical way of his. “You released him from his circle. I told you not to ask him questions or the circle would break. Ghosts rule through right of conquest. That kid defeated the previous king, the mad tyrant, in single combat. He is arguably the strongest being in existence and you should all be grateful he seems like a goofy kid because he could have wiped us out without a second thought.”
Dick ignored him. Taking a deep breath for the first time since Tim went missing. Two more days. He could handle two more days.
Danny returned home with good news obviously. The bad news was that they were saying goodbye to someone they now considered a friend. And even though Tim was excited to finally find he’s actual home and maybe get his memories back, he also seemed sad to go as well. So Danny pulled Tim around town, let him say goodbye to everyone he wanted to. Then piled Tim, Sam, and Tucker into the speeder, and sliced a hole through the realms into Tim’s dimension.
The portal opened right over where the summoning circle used to be. No one was their yet. That was probably Danny’s fault. He hadn’t exactly informed them where he’d be coming back to. Oh well, they’d figure it out soon enough. He shifted back to his human form and huddled next to the speeder with the the others until Nightwing came sprinting through the door and practically tackled Tim into a hug. Danny and co held back for a moment, watching as Tim went from confused, to defensive to practically melting into the hug. It was like something in his eyes cleared for the first time and the crew knew Tim would be okay.
They stood to the side as more bat/bird themed individuals came in, as Tim was surrounded by people he immediately recognized and hugged. It was heart warming. And then Tim dragged everyone over to the speeder.
“Guys, this is Sam, Tucker, and Danny. They looked out for me while I was missing and helped me find my way home.” Some awkward introductions were passed around. Dick hugged everyone.
Tucker handed Tim a phone that was programmed to be able to communicate between dimensions. Sam gave him a plant and made him swear to deliver it to pamala Isley. Danny just…
Actually Danny doesn’t do anything before Tim pulls him into a massive hug. “I expect you to visit me.”
“Not sure I could ignore you if we’re being honest. Your definitely one of the more interesting missing persons cases I’ve dealt with. Also Tucker will miss his hacking buddy.” Tim laugh and it felt like the most beautiful thing Danny had heard. “I bet I can bribe clockwork into resetting my dimensions time rate so that ours can match.”
“Aww, you’d do that for me?” And the shit eating grin told Danny he was teasing him. Jokes on Tim though. Loyalty’s his fatal flaw, and half his obsession is protection. How’s he gonna protect the newest member of his friend group if they’re not aging the at same rate?
“I’d do a lot for you Tim. Don’t test me. Sam and Tuck already tried; it did not end well.” For the other guy. “Now go have your happy reunion with you family. Shoot us a message when you want to hang out.”
So with one final goodbye Danny and Co head home and Tim returns to Gotham with his family.
When Danny visits Gotham later on the first thing he does is track down Lady Gotham and gives her the energy boost she rightly deserves. He thanks her as well for looking out for her hero’s so well.
All in all it’s a happy ending. Also somehow word spread about the absolute throw down Danny had planned for Hades because his demons kept important information from the king, and their was a crowd for that beat down. Naturally Danny won.
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Danny couldn't really explain why he always answered this specific summoning ritual. It was like a feeling. One of warmth. Of a mug of hot cocoa in your hands and a nice weighted blanket dropped around your shoulders as a fire blazed in the hearth in front of you, keeping the chill in the rest of the room at bay.
Danny always lost himself in the sensation and found himself back in that stupid circle of protection with that same wierd guy demanding answers. But Danny didn't know anything about a "Lazarus Pit" or a "Pit Madness" let alone a cure for it. Even if he did he wasn't going to tell Red Robin anything after all the times he'd used the marriage summoning spell to get him here.
Earlier on Red had explained it was the only spell known to thier universe that could summon an entity from "The Lazarus Dimension" Which he guessed was another name for the ghost zone and Phantom was the only one to ever be summoned.
Danny couldn't help but wonder why...
After escaping Bird boy and his supernatural pop quiz (oh look, another test for him to flunk) he returns home only to discover his parents had seen him get summoned and accused him of being a ghost that replaced thier baby boy.
Naturalally the next time Red Robin had summoned Phantom he was angry. He was tired and dirty from being on the run from his parents, his worlds US government, and Vlad. Not to mention his own rogues gallery didn't exactly cut him any slack.
So Danny decided that if Red Robin wanted to abuse the power of a marriage ritual than the very least he can do is put his money where his mouth is.
Danny grinned and exited the magic circle, taking delight in Reds widening eyes before he lunged. A kiss sealed the deal, making sure Danny had a safeish place to stay.
After all, married couples in the infinite realms were obligated and even compelled to protect and care for eachother.
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creoastra · 3 months
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134340 Pluto - Cojum Dip
THIS SONG IS SO DANNY AND I GOT SO INSPIRED FROM IT THAT I ACTUALLY MADE CONTENT THAT WASNT A REDRAW LMAO
In all seriousness, I could write a whole essay on how this song is perfect for Danny. Like I genuinely might make an animatic with him to this song it's that good
(I am usually an animator but it's hard to post videos to Tumblr lol)
Also ignore how his face is so much more rendered than anywhere else lol. It was an accident (I didn't feel like rendering everything else)
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sorensouls · 1 year
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"Who's that dad?"
"Son there's nobody there"
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Who could he be running from ?
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"Probably because they don't have a grave," Danny said, pulling out his vape. "Final resting places are--HEY!"
Nightwing held the pilfered vape above his head. "Where did you get this?" he asked, scandalized.
Danny jumped for it, but Nightwing was too tall! Even at 5'7 he'd have to use his powers to reach the vape; he had no chance as a 9 year old. "We're in Gotham! You're lucky I didn't get cocaine instead!"
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wastefulreverie · 5 months
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fixed point
“Would you like to know how much time you have left?” Clockwork asked.
Danny had never wished more that he’d died in something with pockets so he could hide his shaking hands. The endless ticking in the lair—hundreds of hands TICK TICK TICK -ing in perfect sync—had never sounded so ominous.
“I—” his voice rattled his throat, a raw thing “—I didn’t think you gave spoilers.”
With an absent spin of their staff, Clockwork shifted from adult to child and said nothing. Dread hung heavy in the air, Clockwork’s unblinking stare piercing through it all. Danny pointedly did not make eye contact. Instead focusing on the oscillating hands of the wall behind them.
He took a breath.
“Will it make it easier, knowing?”
Clockwork blinked once, face betraying nothing.
Dammit.
He wasn’t an idiot. There was really only one outcome of this conversation. Just as there had been the day he’d first pulled on his jumpsuit, walking—tripping—through the threshold. Life snuffed out of him in less than a second.
He brought his shaking hands together and met Clockwork’s even gaze.
And answered.
Thirteen days.
Seven hours.
Thirty-six minutes.
It was somehow both longer and shorter than he’d expected.
It was also a weight off his shoulders, at least in the beginning. It wouldn’t happen any earlier than the date Clockwork had recounted that night. Thirteen days of freedom. Peace. Liberation.
Because if he thought too much about the length of thirteen days, how three-hundred or so hours wasn’t enough time— it’s not fucking FAIR —he would be swallowed by the crushing anxiety that made its permanent home in his stomach.
So there was that.
He didn’t bother telling his friends. They were already all on edge, but if he could act like all was well he could ease their worries. Because ultimately they were just worried about him, and if he was fine they would be too.
He did, however, make contingency plans. Farewell videos on a USB drive taped to the underside of his bed.
He wanted Clockwork to be wrong. Some nights he laid awake, trying his damndest to find a way off this track. This self-fulfilling prophecy. But there was nothing. That moment had already passed with that stupid news broadcast that had glued him to the couch, shaking, as his parents had shouted and jeered at the screen. Dismissive. Furious. Invested.
They hadn’t noticed when he pushed himself off the couch and stumbled, shaking, to the bathroom to purge the contents of his stomach.
It was a miracle he’d only gotten a two-day suspension for slugging Wes in the face in front of the whole cafeteria. Even more so that no one had pieced it together from that.
No one saw him. But they would. When it was too late.
He couldn’t stop it. But as he didn’t acknowledge it in the waking world it wouldn’t exist. So he reserved his existential crises for when there was nothing to distract him from the looming, inevitable deadline.
He wished he could tell Mr. Lancer that whenever he was given detention that afternoon.
On the night of the twelfth day, he didn’t sleep a wink. No amount of coffee could keep his head above his desk that morning, and so, Danny spent his final hour in detention. He considered skipping. Detention was not the place for everything to come to an end.
But wouldn’t leaving—deviating from his normal routine—up the chances of putting events in motion?
Avoidance was his specialty, after all.
Jazz could write a paper on his coping tactics alone if she hadn’t already. 
At nineteen minutes Mr. Lancer stopped in front of his desk. It was only him and Valerie today, and she sat somewhere three desks behind and to his left of him. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, loose yellow sleeves draped over her hands. The bags under her eyes rivaled his own, even though he was sure there hadn’t been too many ghosts in the past week or so—but then again, he’d not been the most attentive to things on the ghost front lately. It was probably his fault she was here at all. 
“Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said. He forced his head to turn, a feat much more difficult than it sounded. His head felt full of lead. “Is everything alright at home?”
Danny forced himself not to cringe.
“Uh.” He ignored the sound of Valerie shifting in her seat behind him. Great. An audience. “Yes.”
“I’ve noticed you’ve been getting much less sleep of late, is all.”
Now this was a load of shit. Danny’s sleep schedule was normally trash. This current existential crisis was no more taxing than his normal night activities.
Lancer continued. “And your parents have—” he paused, eyes flitting somewhere behind him. “—in light of recent revelations, I just worry, Mr. Fenton.”
Hm.
Did he know, then?
Was this it?
Danny stared stupidly for a moment, forgetting to shut his mouth. And then shrugged.
Falling back on ignorance.
If he was honest, he hadn’t quite expected Lancer to be the one to put it together, but it also made sense. 
Lancer’s mouth thinned. “I know they can be intense, especially with the scrutiny placed on our school now. No one should feel scared to come to school. Or go home,” he said, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “This is a safe space.”
For a moment all he could hear was the drum of his heart in his chest. And then behind him, Valerie cleared her throat.
“With all due respect, Mr. Lancer,” she said, “nowhere is safe with that putrid ghost hiding among us.”
Danny didn’t turn around. Lancer’s reaction was subdued, but there was a protective fire in his eyes that confirmed Danny’s suspicions. He wondered how long ago he’d put it together.
“Ms. Gray,” Lancer said, “I see your point, but I’m just trying to ease tensions.”
Danny checked the clock.
Seventeen minutes. 
Maybe he should’ve skipped detention after all.
(No escaping the inevitable. No do-overs this time.)
Valerie scoffed. “So what? We let our guard down?” he chanced a glance behind him, and Valerie’s eyes were red-rimmed—from lack of sleep or otherwise he had no idea. “Someone here is a walking weapon and we’re supposed to ignore this? Fenton at least knows he’ll be safe at home, but what about the rest of us? We don’t get to go home to ghost-hunting parents—we have to hold our own.”
Lancer nodded. “I understand. I just think that it’s very frightening for all of us, ghost hunters or not.”
Danny’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Yeah.”
Valerie’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to make light—”
“No. No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s not safe with Phantom as a student here. Whoever he is.”
She sighed. “Danny, I don’t know what it’s like with your parents, but—”
“But what?” he cut her off. “Because they’re ghost hunters they’re automatically the safest people in the room?” He lowered his voice. “You would think that.”
She froze. “What does that mean?”
Hm. Whoops.
“People don’t know what it’s like, I guess.”
Danny turned back around. Lancer’s stare was dripping with sympathy.
Fifteen minutes.
There was a scrape of a chair, a thud of feet, and a warm hand on his shoulder. Valerie released him just as fast. When he met her eyes, they were as wide as saucers.
“D—Danny,” she said with a note of panic. “You’re cold.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
She took a step back. He hadn’t seen her this scared since they’d been stranded on Skulker’s island together. He could see the realization dawning. 
“Val,” he said, knowing full well what was going through her head, “what’s wrong?”
“It’s not you,” she said, a desperate plea. “I can’t be this stupid.”
He sighed and Lancer stepped between them.
“Ms. Gray,” he said, “now let’s not jump to conclusions—”
“No!” she shook her head. “No, no, no! It doesn’t make sense. You’re—your parents hunt ghosts. Hunt Phantom.”
Danny crossed his arms.
“So do you.”
Lancer looked between them like Danny had announced that he liked eating golf balls. “What.”
Tears welled in Valerie’s eyes. “I trusted you!”
The minute hand inched forward.
Fourteen.
“You trusted me to what?”
Valerie clenched her fists. “Don’t do that! Don’t play stupid!”
“Ms. Gray—”
“I’m not playing.” Danny turned sideways in his desk, facing her head-on. “Tell me what you think I’ve done, Val.”
“Mr. Fenton—!”
“You replaced him. You replaced Danny. How long have you been pretending to be him? To be alive? How can you live with yourself, going home everyday and seeing his parents and—and—acting like you’re still—” she choked on her tears. “You terrorize this town, Phantom. I won’t let you take anything else from me, or anyone.”
Lancer’s eyes were wide. He’d never seen the man so shocked, in such foreign territory.
Valerie, on the other hand, was resolute. There was as much determination in her face as tears.
“I’m still me,” he said. “I died, but I came back. I never replaced myself, however that works. I am sorry, Val. There’s a lot that—”
“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! ”
“—that I didn’t mean to happen.”
Lancer slammed his hand on Danny’s desk.
“Can we all settle down!”
It all happened in a matter of seconds. The clock in his peripheral kept him tethered to the moment. 
Valerie reached behind her and pulled a blaster.
A flash of red—
(The minute hand moves.
Thirteen.)
—and a burst of hot pain through his side.
He crumpled forward, his head meeting the linoleum floor with a SMACK and somewhere above him a distant shout.
Everything from his side to his cranium THROBBED and it wouldn’t fucking stop.
(He’d taken hits from Val before. This shouldn’t hurt so much. Why does this—?)
Iron pooled in his mouth. 
Oh right.
Ectoplasm was thicker than blood.
Danny tried to push himself up from the floor but the world spun and his arms gave out below him and he slumped back down to the cold, hard floor.
The floor felt better.
Maybe he would…
Stay here for a while…
***
The television clicked on. A rerun of the six o’clock news.
He didn’t let Jazz turn it off.
“According to a recent report, there is speculation that our local ghost vigilante Phantom might be living among us. Care to tell us more, Lance?”
“Yes, Tiffany.” Lance Thunder’s stupid blonde hair was polished and perfect as usual and he wanted to wipe that stupid half-smile off the bastard’s face. “A ghost ID’ed as Walker —” at this, a crude picture that was mostly just a white blur appeared on the screen “— has publicly announced that our hero is a student at Casper High fooling us, flying under the radar.”
“And as far as we understand, tips from ghosts aren’t verifiable…?”
“Normally, yes, but there is evidence to suggest that—”
“This isn’t good for you,” Jazz hissed. “I know that it’s scary, but—”
“Exposure therapy,” he snapped back. “It’s gonna be the talk of the school anyway.”
She slumped back down onto the couch. “Take care of yourself.”
The door to the lab was thrown open. His parents marched through the kitchen and into the living room, perfectly eclipsing the TV.
“—telling you, Jack. The DNA scans are inconclusive at best. Their so-called ‘experts’ are out of their depths.”
“We’ll show them once and for all. If we can find out which student it’s using as cover—”
“—we’ll expose Phantom for the monster he is!”
His parents disappeared upstairs for the night, but he could still hear snippets of their vows to destroy him. 
He shot Jazz a tired look. “Easier said than done.”
***
Someone was touching him.
Everything on his left burned. Far above him were LEDs and beige ceiling tiles. He wasn’t sure when he’d been rolled onto his back. But he was now, and someone was pressing down on the spot that burned burned burned—!
Blood trickled down his throat.
How many minutes had it been?
How many did he have left?
There were voices, somewhere, but everything sounded like it was underwater. Maybe it was. Drowning would be preferable to many of the other deaths he’d prepared for. Still terrible, sure, but vivisection lowered the bar considerably. 
“—have you done!”
“He’s—” A girl’s voice wavered, quiet. “He’s Phantom. He’s not supposed to—to—”
Wow. Valerie had the decency to sound ashamed.
At least he could die knowing that his killer at least had a few shreds of regret.
(Is it sad that it’s more than he expected?)
“—little first aid.” The pain came in waves, and all Danny could hear was the rush of his stupid heart in his ears. “—expecting shootings in America, but not from a—” 
Just as fast as it came, the world melted away. His last grasp on consciousness slipped away.
(As fast as the click of a button.)
***
Wes had a punchable face.
But hey—that’s what you get for talking to the press. The accusations were written off as pretty baseless, but the damage had been done. He got inquisitive stares now and again. After all, Wes was a joke, but his interview put Danny’s name on the list of suspects and that was enough to fuck his entire life over.
After his two-day suspension, Danny had little opportunity to survey his work. Honestly, more people asked him about how bad he fucked up Wes’s face than whether or not he was Phantom.
(From what he had seen, it was in a perpetual state of purple and that was enough to curb his anger for now.)
So. He had two days off from school.
Danny went to see Clockwork.
Long Now welcomed him with welcome arms, and he broke down into a fit of whines and gripes about how it seemed like everyone was out to get him, that everyone wanted to put his head on a pike. Everyone wanted to ferret out the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Clockwork shared their sympathies.
“No matter what I do, I just—I’m a wreck. I think someone’s figured it out. That they know, but then I mention it to Jazz or Sam or Tucker and I’m just paranoid and I think I’m paranoid now and—” he groaned. “I don’t know what to do. I’m losing my mind.”
“You do know that it’s inevitable that the truth comes to light.”
He froze. “What.”
Clockwork shifted from senior to adult. “Your paranoia isn’t for naught. It’s a matter of time.”
No. This couldn’t be happening.
He’d figure a way out.
There had to be something.
“I thought nothing was inevitable.”
“Not nothing,” Clockwork hummed. “Often, it is nothing. But not this time.”
Their words shook him to the core. He’d suspected it, sure, but confirmation was—
“I know it isn’t fair.”
“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t fair!” Danny snapped. “Your entire life isn’t—isn’t under scrutiny for everyone. If they know that I’m me, I—”
He pressed his hands to his chest.
He would be finished.
One way or another, someone would find a way to put him on their table.
The government.
His parents.
Maybe someone else out for his blood.
(His body.)
“I can’t see what will happen past them learning the truth,” Clockwork said. “But it is a fixed point. Everything past that diverges, a thousand roads. Timelines. Possibilities. I can’t tell you what to expect. The best, the worst. I cannot offer that reassurance.”
“Oh.”
They nodded. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“I don’t want them to find out,” he said in a pathetic whine.
For a long moment, Clockwork said nothing. If not for the constant ticking of clocks, he would have thought they were frozen. But then Clockwork’s expression shifted.
And they asked: 
“Would you like to know?” 
***
……
………
Warbled voices were around him again. Different.
But this time more in focus.
“Sir, Ma’am, if you could leave the room—”
“I will NOT. That is my son, and I am not leaving until someone tells me why there is a HOLE in his chest—!”
And somewhere else, a shriek of sobs.
“We’re transporting him to the hospital, you can’t—”
“I did it,” said that same, sobbing voice. “I shot him. I shot him.”
More people were touching him and Danny didn’t like it oh god no no no —
“—get him on the stretcher—”
“—the hell DID you—”
“—Ms. Gray, you—”
“—no! I want to know why—”
“—securing him, just—”
And now time did slow.
The EMTs lifted the stretcher.
And his face lolled to the side, giving him a clear view of the clock.
The minute hand moved one last time.
Just as:
“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t—he’s Phantom, I didn’t think that it would—!” Valerie, cut off, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Danny. If you can hear me, I’m so sorry.”
And then there was silence.
Crushing darkness.
***
If he had any last doubts that his secret was out, they were snuffed out when he woke up in the hospital to the pained faces of his parents. Jazz was in the chair to his left, hair mussed up and asleep. His parents’ eyes were red with tears. In his delirium, he also noticed Sam’s backpack discarded in the corner.
How long had—?
“Two days.”
Clockwork appeared before him in their adult form. They swung their staff, looking rather pleased with themselves. Danny then realized the occupants of the room had been frozen as long as he’d been awake. 
“You’re recovering well, all considered.” Clockwork tapped a clipboard on a nearby table. “I will say, I am surprised that we took this route. It is what you might call a ‘spoiler,’ but it’s kinder than most.”
“Is it,” he said, voice hoarse.
Clockwork waited for him to finish coughing up his lungs before speaking again. “They’re handling it as best they can. I won’t say it’s great, but you’re on the way there.”
“I—what happened, again?”
And as he asked, it came rushing back.
Lancer. Valerie.
And paramedics?
Clockwork gave him a knowing smile. “Your teacher called an ambulance. In his panic, he might have let it slip that you were having a reaction because of a ghost weapon, and your parents were looped into the call.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Danny’s eyes found his frozen heart monitor, time stopped between beats. Below, his mother had tied off the top half of her HAZMAT suit and was wearing a black shirt beneath. He did notice that the contents of her weapons belt were emptied.
He turned back to Clockwork. “How did they take it?”
They shrugged. “Why don’t you ask them?”
“Wait—wait, I'm not ready.”
“How about this? I tell you how much time you have left.” They raised their staff. “Three—”
“Clockwork—”
“Two—”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Time in.”
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halfa-failure · 2 months
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He’s fine… right..?
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lorelxlz · 13 days
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tw // eye pulling and mild body horror
not quite human anymore
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As the (for a lack of a better word) god of balance and space, and being a halfa that is arguably immortal, Danny has the rare opportunity to reincarnate. Live again. Start over.
When Clockwork had originally told him he was immortal, he (understandably) assumed he meant he, Danny Fenton, could not die. He was wrong. As usual. Instead, it was that he, his soul, could not parish or cease to exist. Two very different things that he was forced to learn through experience when Danny Fenton died at the age of 64 from a car accident as mundane as that is, and ended up in the Ghost Zone to, presumably, ‘live’ the rest of his afterlife. It wasn’t until later when he fell asleep in his lair (first sign something was happening, ghosts don’t need to sleep) and woke up with his head fuzzy and body clumsy. He was a baby and it wasn’t until his mind was old enough to comprehend who he was that he understood he was living life again, this time as child in a different universe and different time.
And when he died again, this time very young from a sickness traveling through his village, he ended up in his lair again, as if he never left. The other ghosts understood after a brief explanation, but the process was still disorienting. Even if it happened again and again.
This time he was born into an odd place. He awoke from a large tube of green liquid. He had a mother named Talia and a Grandfather. He also had a father and older brother named Damian, but they lived in a different country and weren’t really on speaking terms it seemed. It also appeared he was born into a cult of some kind. Mother called it the League of Assassins and Grandfather called it his Legacy, the organization he built from the ground up. Oh and it all revolved around the green, bubbling pit below their home that had resurrection powers that may or may not make someone insane.
A connection to the dead in the basement, a family business, and a Frootloop with too much power. This was turning out to be a lot like his first life.
It’s the assassinations that bother him. He’s fine with killing to protect himself and to protect others. He’s even fine with mercy killings, but to kill someone who is unarmed and can’t even put up a fight is crossing a line.
Grandfather doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like a lot of what Danny does. He talks back too much, he doesn’t follow orders, he has too much of an imagination, he has a weak stomach and can’t see the big picture, he’s never good enough. He’s also compared to his big brother Damian a lot. He’s never even met the guy but knows he has a better fighting stance and climbed the mountain faster when he was Danny’s age. Danny doesn’t know if he wants to met Damian at all after hearing his name every time Grandfather criticizes him. The only thing Damian is to him is a standard to exceed.
And don’t get him started on his Father. Mother brags about him enough, but he’s obviously not here for a reason. He stole Damian from the family, Grandfather says, his golden heir. Danny is just the spare, filling in for his older brother who doesn’t want to come home. Of course, he takes everything with a grain of salt. Danny’s family also brainwashes and conditions people to follow them and die for them, it’s all twisted and manipulative. However, there’s bound to be some truth woven in there somewhere and it doesn’t look good for his biological father.
When Danny becomes the Demon’s Head, and with everything he’s been training for he WILL be the Head, the first thing he’s doing is cutting Grandfather’s head right off his shoulders and feeding it to the dogs. He’ll run this cult thing with actual morals and better management. Not too much change because then his position will be questioned, but over time he’ll bring about some good outcomes.
He does think his family believes they are doing things for the greater good, he just thinks they’ve lost sight of what’s important.
Danny’s not even bothered with not having a normal childhood. He’s lived it once or twice, it was quiet, nice, but ultimately boring. He enjoys the adventure and thrives on the action. He gets excited when he learns a new weapon and celebrates when he finally perfects that technique he’s been practicing. He’s proud when his mother compliments his precise aim in her own weird roundabout way of speaking and is awfully smug when Grandfather doesn’t say a word of criticism when he slaughters his opponents efficiently.
He has a crazy family, but it’s his. So it comes to no surprise that he feels a little unbalanced when his mother takes him to Gotham after some political tension between Grandfather and some group he’s not important enough to know.
He’s seven and has lived this entire life in Nanda Parbat, only visiting the other League locations a few times, where the weather is warm and the air is clean. Gotham is the opposite of his home. He remembers a life in Chicago, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the permanent smog covering the sky. Even if it was clear, the light pollution would hinder his view of the stars.
He already hated this place and was actively counting down the minutes until they could leave. Although he had a suspicion of why they were here. The tight lines beside his mother’s eyes gave away her reluctance, but her confident stance didn’t falter.
Danny watches as she meets with a man in a black superhero suit and what looks like a teenager in a different uniform. The pieces were finally coming together when Mother calls him to come out and he drops from the rafters to land on his feet like a cat.
Their two visitors stare hard at him and if he was in a different life he might have fidgeted under their intense attention. He does not.
“My son, this is your father and older brother.”
“Mother,” the teen- Danny’s brother, Damian, objects, “since when do I have a brother? Have you adopted like Father?”
In response, Danny pulls down the black mask to show the rest of his face and the clear resemblance between the two. Danny had more blue mixed with his green eyes to give a marbled effect and he had his mother’s jaw line but he still had his father’s lips and- actually that was all he could see, the cowl obstructing the rest of his features. Either way, there was no mistaking Danny and Damian as anything but brothers.
“Damian, meet your brother. I hope the two of you will get along and look out for one another.”
Like hell they will, Danny thinks bitterly. He’s spent pretty much this whole life being compared to the boy in front of him, there’s bound to be some resentment on his part.
“I thought he’d be taller,” he tells his mother, eyeing Damian up and down unimpressed.
Damian actually sputters.
“Talia,” his father says, demands, as if asking twenty questions in that one word.
“You will care for him while I’m away. It isn’t safe for him and I have work to do.”
Danny knew it was coming and yet he still felt the squeeze of panic and betrayal in his chest.
“Mother, don’t leave me here,” he almost whines but just manages to keep his voice steady. “I can stay in Switzerland or the Alps or somewhere else that is not here.”
Mother says his name with that amount of sharpness that lets him know she wasn’t changing her mind. He huffs angrily and glares at the two in front of him like it was their fault his was here in this disgusting city.
They don’t talk for much longer before Danny is following them back to a black suped-up car and Mother is nowhere in sight. The ride is silent, the others’ thoughts loud and leaving the vehicle suffocating.
Danny decides to make the process difficult for them, arguing when they ask for a blood sample to confirm, getting into things he clearly shouldn’t when he got bored, and being a little shit to anyone else that shows up in his path.
He knew nothing of this side of his family, his Mother only telling him how strong and honorable his father is and how proud she is of Damian despite his decision to not become the Demon’s Heir. This was his opportunity to watch and learn and maybe test their patience here and there. He didn’t want to be there, they didn’t want him there, so he was going to make this everyone’s problem and maybe formulate his own opinion of his father and brother in the meantime.
It doesn’t take much for him to tolerate the others Father has brought into his side of the family because he had no prior knowledge of them.
He respects Alfred, he can relate to Tim, Dick is a pun master that Danny can’t help but contribute, Jason is too cool not to like, Cass is kind, Steph is bubbly, Duke is probably the most normal, and Selina has a mischievousness to her that Danny can get behind.
Father is gruff. He always looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Danny isn’t used to that. Mother and Grandfather and even himself have the position of power to say what they want without much consequence. What’s stopping him?
It gets to a point where Danny snaps and demands he speak his mind or say what he’s feeling. It doesn’t go well but he thinks there might have been some progress in the days afterwards.
Damian is a different story. Danny doesn’t hate his brother, but he certainly doesn’t like him. He makes a point to show it through pranks on the older boy and trying to outplay him in competitions and bets the other sometimes doesn’t even agree to.
Danny can admire how passionate he is in his art and how devoted he is to caring for his animals, and even how much he reminds him of Sam from his first life, but it doesn’t erase the years of feeling less than the perfect first son.
This doesn’t really change until Damian comes back and goes directly to the medbay after a mission gone wrong. It takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s worried for his big brother. Damian is in pain and Danny does not like it. He wants to go out and kill the men who hurt his brother, make them pay for what they’ve done. He wants to be the one to stitch up his wounds and bring him soup.
It’s truly unfortunate that his obsession is protection, particularly around those he considers friends and family.
Danny tones down on the aggression towards Damian after that. He still pranks the teenager and teases him and challenges him to competitions and duels, but it’s more in a brotherly way than showing resentment. Damian definitely notices, but wisely doesn’t address it. Instead, Damian quietly talks about what he remembers and misses of Nanda Parbat when the two of them are alone, both of them actually having a conversation without raised voices or tense shoulders.
After a while Danny doesn’t even realize he isn’t counting the days anymore.
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